Forbidden Vow

by Cosby, Diana

His hands slid down her back, pressed her body fully against his, nor did she miss the flash of heat in his eyes. “What of Sir Pieres and the knights who went on the hunt with me?”

  “I met with Sir Pieres in the stables upon his return. In brief, I advised him of the situation and ordered him to leave with the men. I warned, if anyone asked the reason for their departure, to explain they needed to hunt further. But, once out of view, to return and enter through the secret tunnel, hide there, and await further orders.”

  His brow arched with interest. “A secret tunnel?”

  Before she could reply, the entry to the keep thudded open.

  On a nervous breath, she stepped back, forced a smile, then tucked strands of hair that had come loose from her braid into place.

  A portly man, a scowl darkening his face, waddled toward them.

  On a nervous breath, she clasped her hand within Bróccín’s. “The Duke of Northbyrn is headed this way,” she whispered with urgency.

  “Where is the entry to the secret tunnel?” her husband whispered.

  “My chamber.” Now wasn’t the time to hesitate at revealing secrets, especially those he had a right to know.

  “Good. Trust me,” he said, his eyes holding hers with fierce intent. “Whatever I say to the duke, agree.”

  “I will,” she promised, and for the first time since she had realized the duke had seized her home, had a glimmer of hope that she and her people had a chance of surviving.

  * * * *

  Jowls sagged on the duke’s face, his eyes dark with condescension riveted on Aiden.

  Far from intimidated by the arrogance pouring off the noble, Aiden held his hard glare. He’d met his kind before, born into wealth and a formidable title without proving his worth. Aye, the warriors who served him were dutiful, not out of admiration but likely from fear of repercussion if their lord perceived a slight.

  The rotund duke halted before them, his well-tailored garb tinged with the stale stench of sweat. “Lord Balfour, you mentioned that once Lord Comyn confirmed the Bruce’s latest position, along with his suspicion that Welsh archers had joined his cause, he would travel to Latharn Castle.”

  “Indeed,” Aiden replied.

  Coldness flickered in his eyes. “The situation has changed.”

  Gwendolyn’s hand tensed in his, and Aiden gave her fingers a calming squeeze. Aye, ’twould seem the situation had changed because the bastard had seized the castle. Why? With Lord Balfour’s well-known loyalty to Comyn, no doubt plans to unite with English forces had been made months before.

  Had King Robert’s military success across the Highlands forced Edward of Caernarfon’s hand to seize control of the remaining critical strongholds loyal to Comyn?

  The reasoning made sense.

  With the Bruce’s tactical strength increasing, Comyn could offer little retaliation to the duke’s coup.

  But this meant the information Rónán and Cailin rode to deliver to the king was moot. Blast it, he had to warn the Bruce.

  “Once we sup,” the noble continued, “you and Lady Gwendolyn will join me in the solar. I have important news to impart.”

  Of that he had no doubt. Nor did Aiden dismiss their fortune in not being arrested on the spot. He owed the blunder to the duke’s arrogance. With the stronghold in his control, the bastard was doing naught but toying with them for his own perverse amusement.

  “I learned you and Lady Gwendolyn were recently married.” The duke’s lecherous gaze slid over her with insulting slowness, and his nostrils flared. “If I had a wife of such beauty, I would not have allowed her out of my bedchamber for at least a fortnight.”

  Well aware the duke baited him, Aiden smothered the urge to drive his dagger into his chest. “’Twould seem, Your Grace,” Aiden said, his voice icy. “England’s definition of what is proper discussion in the presence of a lady far from meets the standards of Scotland’s.”

  The noble’s face reddened.

  Before he said something to incite the noble further, Aiden nodded. “As you said, we are just married, and I wish to be with my wife. If you will excuse us.” Without awaiting a reply, he led her across the bailey, his hand ready near his blade.

  Several paces away, Gwendolyn’s gaze narrowed on Aiden. “The cur is fortunate I didna drive my blade into his heart.”

  “Or mine,” Aiden agreed. The bastard would die before he touched her. “We will talk more in your chamber.”

  In silence they walked, and with each step he noted the changes around the castle. The number of guards posted at the entry, as well as upon the wall walk, had increased. Englishmen carried goods into the castle, along with weapons into the guardhouse.

  A short while later, thankful to have reached her chamber without incident, Aiden shut the door behind them, slammed the wooden bar into place.

  “Do you think his grace will wait until this evening to arrest us?” she asked, nerves edging her voice.

  On a deep breath, he stowed his anger. With the decisions ahead, he needed a clear mind. “I believe so. We must be gone before then.” He scanned the chamber. “Where is the entry to the secret chamber?”

  She crossed to the wall, pushed aside the chest, and pressed her finger into a hidden indentation in the stone.

  A portion of the wall slid open, exposing a black void.

  Aiden strode over, the deep, rich scent of sea air from the tunnel strong. “This leads directly to the shore?”

  “Aye. It also branches off to several paths beneath the castle.”

  He nodded. “Tunnels we will use when we return to reclaim the stronghold.”

  Eyes dark with worry held his. “How? The knights Lord Comyn sent to guard the castle have been killed. We have naught but you, myself, and the handful of knights I sent with Sir Pieres. And the two knights who rode in with you.” Her face was pale. “Mary’s will, they—”

  “Are out hunting,” Aiden finished. “I will tell Sir Pieres to warn them not to return.”

  She gave a shaky nod.

  “Once we meet with your guard, I will decide the best course of action. That we still have the element of surprise gives us an advantage. Hurry; gather the few things you must have with you.”

  As she rushed about the chamber, he grabbed a basket of bread, wine, apples, and cheese, and set them in the tunnel.

  Gwendolyn lit a candle. “After I overheard the duke, I used a tunnel that has a concealed exit in the kitchen to hide extra food stores where Sir Pieres and his men will meet us.”

  “Excellent.”

  Eyes blazing, she angled her jaw. “’Tis our castle we retake. Whatever I can do to aid our cause, I will!”

  Aiden’s breath caught as he took in his warrior wife standing strong and fearless beside him, as fierce as any knight. Aye, they would seize Latharn Castle, though for a purpose far from what she believed.

  He clasped his dagger’s handle, scanned the chamber one last time, his gaze pausing on the bed. Hours before, too aware of Gwendolyn, her taste, the softness of her skin etched in his mind, he’d worried about the night ahead. Now, foolishly, he yearned for the uninterrupted hours lost.

  A dangerous thought. Whatever bond they’d built was constructed upon a foundation of deceit.

  He must keep his mind on his mission. “We have to hurry.”

  The candle flickering in her hand, she clutched her bag in the other and looked one final time around the room, as if memorizing it. Eyes filled with determination met his; then she stepped into the tunnel.

  Mouth tight, he followed, sealed the entry behind him.

  * * * *

  Guided by the flicker of flames, Gwendolyn allowed herself a moment of despair as she made her way through the twists and turns of the passageway. Though Bróccín believed they could reclaim the fortress, doubts battled the glimmers of hope.

  An ac
he built in her chest, and she struggled against thoughts of never seeing her home again. The last time she’d seen her father, she’d promised to do whatever was necessary to keep her legacy safe. Now, regardless that she’d wed the noble chosen by Lord Comyn, however fierce a warrior, a real chance existed she would fail.

  A drip of water dropped in the blackness ahead, the scent of the sea growing stronger with each step. As she rounded the next turn, the crash of waves echoed in the distance.

  “How much farther?” Bróccín’s deep voice reverberated in the gloom.

  “A short way.” On a steadying breath, she stepped down several strategically placed rocks. Behind her, the steady pad of boots sounded, the thrum of confidence in his every step.

  What if her husband was wrong and they couldn’t recapture her home? She shook her head with disgust at her doubts. When had she become a spineless fool who surrendered at the first sign of adversity? Bróccín was a man of war, one trusted by Comyn to defend her, a man who in the brief time she’d known him had earned her respect.

  If he believed they would retake her home, regardless his plan, she would give him her trust.

  The faint waver of torchlight illuminated the scarred walls ahead, and through an opening, she caught shadows moving about. Her shoulders sagged with relief. “My men are there.” She led her husband into the large chamber. Twenty knights rested near chests filled with blankets and the food she’d left there earlier.

  Hand clasping his sword’s hilt, Sir Pieres jumped up from a rock cropping. Recognition flickered in his gaze, and he released his weapon. “Thank God you were able to escape. The state of the castle?”

  “’Tis under the duke’s control,” she replied, “except he doesna know we have slipped out.”

  “A fact he will soon discover when we dinna appear to dine,” Bróccín said.

  Face grim, Sir Pieres sheathed his blade. “Now what?”

  Pride filled her as she gazed upon her husband. “We make plans to retake the castle.”

  A short while later, as Sir Pieres and his men moved out into the darkness, Gwendolyn’s chest tightened at the danger of their mission ahead. “I pray they can recruit enough locals to aid us in our task. With the Bruce having gained control of so much of the Highlands, many have shifted their fealty to him.”

  Her husband hesitated. “Once we return with reinforcements,” he said at last, “we will add whatever men Sir Pieres has found to our ranks. For now, we must warn those faithful to you to burn their fields, then flee.”

  Bile rose in her throat; she despised the distressing news she would bring her tenants. “My people have endured so much,” she rasped, “the thought of asking them to burn crops they have nurtured since the last time troops swept through and devastated their harvest breaks my heart.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “’Tis a necessity to ensure the duke’s men canna use them. Once the castle is secure, we will help the tenants to replant their fields and rebuild their homes.”

  “Aye,” she said, sadness weighing her words.

  Bróccín picked up a water pouch. “The alarm announcing our escape will soon sound. We need to be long gone before then.”

  She glanced down the blackened tunnel, angled her jaw. By God, when they returned, they would recapture her home!

  Chapter 8

  Exhaustion weighing heavy on his mind, Aiden shook the farmer’s hand, the elder’s weathered face lined with grief but determination as well. “I thank you for your loyalty to Lady Gwendolyn. Move your family to safety. Stay hidden until the castle has been recaptured.”

  “We will, my lord.” The man’s gaze softened as it shifted to Gwendolyn. “Take care, my lady. We are thankful, knowing you are protected by such a valiant warrior.”

  Eyes dark with worry, she squeezed his hand, then stepped back. “Godspeed.”

  Though her expression remained somber, Aiden caught the tremor of her lips.

  The man climbed onto the wagon, sat, then snapped the reins. The swaybacked mare plodded toward the woods, the cart tethered behind her loaded to the brim.

  “I pray they are safe,” Gwendolyn rasped.

  Aiden moved to her side and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Away they have a chance. If they had remained, they would have died.”

  “I know,” she said, anger sliding into her voice. “I canna believe Lord Comyn could ever trust the English.”

  “Why?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.

  “It isna important.”

  Her upset over her liege lord ignited Aiden’s hope that he could sway her fealty to the Bruce. “I admitted earlier that I have had doubts concerning Lord Comyn’s decisions of late. It wasna as if your words will convince me otherwise.”

  She slanted him a measuring look. “My concern with my liege lord arises due to his ties to King Edward I. England’s former sovereign proved himself over and again a ruler not to trust. From his declaring himself Scotland’s overlord after King Alexander’s death, to forcing John Balliol to abdicate the throne, and in his final push for power he went to great lengths to ensure Scotland was excommunicated.”

  Indeed, Aiden silently agreed. A religious exclusion that had allowed King Robert to offer all Knights Templar within his realm impunity, a sanction that no doubt had England’s former king turning over in his grave.

  “Edward of Caernarfon doesna have his father’s drive to conquer,” Aiden said.

  “Mayhap,” she agreed, and withdrew her hand from his. “but he is still king, one who is susceptible to the influence of the powerful nobles advising him. As well, though King Edward I is dead, his father’s influence still lingers.” Rubbing her brow, Gwendolyn shook her head. “Forgive me; fatigue loosens my tongue. I rarely discuss my feelings on such topics.”

  Her distrust of England’s monarchs pleased him, and he stifled the impulse to share his loyalty. The time would come, but ’twas too soon now. Stepping away, he lit the torches in the hearth, handed her one. “Let us finish.”

  Lips pressed tight, she nodded.

  Once they’d burned the crofter’s hut, they ran to the edge of the knee-high oats swaying in the breeze. Bitter remorse ripped through him as he set the fertile crops ablaze.

  Sparks flared, caught on the sun-dried stems. A gust breathed life into the fire, nurturing the flames until it consumed the surrounding stalks and raced down the field with lethal intent.

  Smoke churned into the sky as the blaze grew, devouring the fields that had held the promise of feeding the family for the winter, a promise lost against the need to keep the harvest from enemy hands.

  Aiden cast his torch into the sweltering inferno and glanced back.

  Soot smudging Gwendolyn’s cheeks, she trailed her tallow-dredged torch across a swath of oats. Flames consumed the leaves. Wiping away tears, she stumbled back, her face forlorn, her steps faltering.

  Aiden took her torch, tossed the weapon of destruction into the field. Sparks ignited, then a wavering orange-red grew until only a vague outline remained. Thick clouds of smoke and soot billowed into the late afternoon sky as the fire destroyed all within its path, leaving naught but charred waste.

  “I hate the English,” she rasped, her rough words dampened by tears. “Damn that Comyn made a pact with the bastards, an act I will never understand, or forgive.” Aiden drew her against him, damning the necessity of destroying this field, this home, along with the other crofters’ huts. “He is desperate,” he said, comprehending too well the decisions of such men, a desperation that had swayed France’s king to betray the Knights Templar, men who had protected him for years. “I pray Lord Comyn will one day learn that the Sassenach canna be trusted.”

  On a sob, Gwendolyn looked skyward. The smoke-smeared rays of sunlight underscoring her dirt- and soot-streaked face, and the grief haunting her eyes.

  “This is far from over,” he gro
und out. “We will reclaim Latharn Castle. That I promise!”

  Eyes dark with fury met his. “Aye, we will.”

  He clenched his hand to staunch the urge to sweep back the blond lock lying across her sweat-drenched cheek. Yes, by God, beneath the Bruce’s lead he would reclaim the stronghold for this courageous woman.

  “We must leave. If the English havena seen the smoke from the fields by now, they will have discovered our absence.” Aiden gestured toward a depression on the far horizon, clogged with bushes and downed trees. “Though not deep, ’twill provide adequate cover as we depart.”

  She nodded.

  With long strides, he headed toward the ditch; she followed.

  Hours later, though they had long since journeyed beyond the lands surrounding the castle, on foot they had far from traveled a safe distance. Mounted, the English could cover significant ground. Another day, mayhap two, then if they saw no sign of the English, he’d believe they’d escaped. Safe was another matter.

  Lord Comyn’s men roamed the woods in search of the Bruce and his supporters. God help them if he and Gwendolyn were discovered. She might believe her lord’s men were honorable, but too often he’d seen warriors who, with the right incentive, strayed from morality. She was a beautiful woman, a fact that could lure warriors to make vile, lust-filled decisions.

  Thunder rumbled overhead. A drop of rain hit his face, then another. Aiden glared at the swirl of angry clouds. God’s sword. A storm would complicate everything.

  He looked back. Rain splattered the pale curve of her cheek, exhaustion rimmed her eyes, and loose tendrils of hair escaped her braid in disheveled tangles around her shoulders. “We will soon rest.”

  “I am fine.” Gwendolyn stumbled over a wet clump of mud, belying her words.

  Far from it, nor with her stubborn attitude would she admit such. In the murky light, Aiden scanned the rocky ground, the dark patches of terrain inundated with shadows. All offered some protection, but not enough to safeguard her. “As you are familiar with the land, is there a place close by where we can hide?”

  “Aye, there is a waterfall with a hidden cave about two hours ahead.” Her hand trembled as she wiped her brow. “Except ’tis farther south and puts us too close to the Bruce.”